The Influence of Birds on Culture

Doves

“Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize…”
—Ted Roethke, “I Knew a Woman”

We are more like birds than some of us may realize. Even in the simplest and most mundane of ways. For instance, have you noticed that when people kiss, their lips become “pursed,” slightly protruding into a “pointy beak”? I must admit that I had never given much thought to this until recently when rereading the above lines.

Neither Kilalea nor Roethke explicitly refer to kissing. However, the human mouths described in their poems, one regarding a dinner date and the other about lovemaking, conjure images for me of canoodling. Of course, poetry typically approaches its subjects indirectly, as Emily Dickinson reminds us, “tell it slant.” In poet Jane Hirshfield’s book Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry, she notes, “Not everything will be given—some part of a poem’s good weight will be found outside the poem, in us.” (1) With poetry, we frequently need to read between the lines.

Traditional Birds of Love

As to why poets have long included birds in love poems makes abundant sense. Few creatures of such beauty exemplify courtship and reproduction the way our feathered friends do. They fly thousands of miles to nesting grounds, an observation elegantly described in Pablo Neruda’s poem “Migration,” an ode to birds and “the erotic urgency of life” (2). The euphemism “the birds and the bees” is a common phrase related to this biological principle.

The way we use language today indicates that birds typically accompany conversations on love. Occasionally, before a “peck” on the mouth or cheek, one lover may affectionately giggle at the other’s “duck lips.” Sometimes one may jokingly call an affectionate couple of friends “lovebirds” or say they seem just “lovey-dovey,” expressions that tap into associations first culturally embedded thousands of years ago.

Avian imagery has a long history of widespread associations with sensual desire and romance. Several winged favorites once affiliated with the Greek and Roman goddesses of love, Aphrodite and Venus respectively, include the dove, sparrow, partridge, and goose (3). References to these birds, too, abound in Renaissance works playfully devoted to the goddess and her acolytes. In ancient China, the wild goose was also considered a bird of love (4), as it was, too, in eleventh-century India for the poet Bilhana:

The waterfowl here is a symbol of the speaker’s mistress in Balhana’s Caurapancasika, just one of many works throughout the world that uses avian metaphors to express the primal power of lust and the emotional significance of love.

“Like Amorous Birds of Prey”

Though many poets have relied on doves, sparrows, and geese—those traditional birds of love—Andrew Marvell proves in his “To His Coy Mistress” that less conventional ones can also provide for moving similes:

Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball.

Passion’s illicit, consuming nature is expressed poignantly here by Marvell’s choice of raptors. Amazingly, this suggestively rousing poem was composed in the seventeenth century, during the same time that John Milton lived. An earlier love poem that features birds of prey—specifically eagles—is Geoffrey Chaucer’s much tamer, late fourteenth-century “The Parliament of Fowls.”

As noted in a previous post, Chaucer was the first to combine St. Valentine’s Day, romantic coupling, and birds all together into one poem, themes that have since collectively resurfaced in other works, notably Elizabeth Bishop’s “Three Valentines,” John Donne’s “An Epithalamion, or Wedding Song,” and Michael Drayton’s “To His Valentine.”

For those of you interested in the history and symbolism of birds in love poetry and works of fiction, I highly recommend Leonard Lutwack’s Birds in Literature. He devotes an entire chapter to “Birds and the Erotic.”(6) While he does not mention anything about duck-lipped smooches, he covers a wide range of Western writers, from Catullus to D. H. Lawrence.

Armstrong, EA. The New Naturalist: A Survey of British Natural History – The Folklore of Birds: An Enquiry into the Origin & Distribution of Some Magico-Religious Traditions. London: Collins, 1958. p. 47.

Armstrong, EA. pp. 42, 47.

Miller, B.S. Phantasies of a Love Thief: The Caurapancasika Attributed to Bilhana. New York: Columbia University Press, 1971. p. 19.

The New Testament mentions at least six different types of birds. Even more are found in the Old Testament. Some non-canonical literature, particularly gnostic manuscripts such as The Gospel of Thomas and The Secret Book of John, also contain references. But focusing on those feathered creatures in the traditional Christian texts—along with a brief look at some of the avian-related folklore, art, and poetry inspired by Jesus and the saints—offers up more than enough material for a post!

Annunciation to Crucifixion

Let’s begin with the obvious, the dove. This bird’s allegorical connection to the Holy Spirit makes it the most prevalent avian icon of Christianity. Today, many churches use doves in their logos and signage, the Gospel Music Association dubs its annual accolades the “Dove Awards,” and until recently the Vatican released doves into St. Peter’s Square. One can find the white-winged creatures in paintings depicting the Annunciation and also Jesus’s baptism. The latter scene is especially noteworthy, as the descriptions given in John 1:32 and the synoptic gospels (Matthew 3:16, Mark 1:10, Luke 3:22) establish this symbol’s scriptural basis. Furthermore, Jesus mentions the birds in one of his teachings. Extolling doves for their gentle ways, he recommends that his followers behave similarly (Matthew 10:16).

Despite the dove’s importance, Christ incorporates other birds into his sermons. When mentioning the dead, for instance, he notes the scavenging vultures (Matthew 24:28, Luke 17:37). In another teaching, to represent common objects of seemingly little value, he turns his disciples’ eyes to the small sparrows (Matthew 10:29–31, Luke 12:6–7). Later, when counseling his followers against worrying, Jesus remarks how the crows (or ravens) do not stockpile food (Luke 12:24). Thus, alluding to the wisdom of these birds, he indicates that God will provide, too, for his disciples and others in need.

As recorded in the New Testament, birds accompany pivotal events in Christ’s last days and also appear in visions related to the early Church. Jesus’s cleansing of the temple consists not only of driving out the moneychangers but also those merchants who sell sacrificial pigeons (or doves) (Matthew 21:12–13, Mark 11:15–16, Luke 19:45–46, John 2:16). Later, a situation involving Peter’s repeated denial of knowing Jesus is punctuated with a rooster crowing (Matthew 26:34, 26:69–75; Mark 14:30, 14:66–72; Luke 22:34, 22:56–62; John 13:38, 18:25–27). This incident, a fulfillment of Jesus’s prediction, marks the last time any of the four gospels refer to a feathered creature. But birds are reported later again in important visions witnessed by St. Peter (Acts 10:11–16) and St. John (Revelation 19:17–21).

While the New Testament does not reveal any birds at the Crucifixion, folklore entertains several narratives. In Birds in Legend, Fable, and Folklore, the naturalist Ernest Ingersoll runs through numerous “legends of the Cross” that sprung up in Europe. Some of these involve a red crossbill attempting to pry the nails from Jesus’s limbs, a European robin tending to his pierced side, a swallow wresting the sharpest thorns from the crown placed around Jesus’s head, and a dove sitting nearby in mourning (1). These tales passed as just-so stories, attempting to account for certain avian characteristics. For example, the red feathered patches on several birds, according to such legends, originated as stains from Christ’s blood.

Unusual Christian Symbols

Bird imagery, of course, is not always rooted in the events of Jesus’s life. The Greek Orthodox Church, for instance, employs iconography of pagan origins that extends back ages. The double-headed eagle is used today due to the heraldic emblem’s connection to the prior Byzantine Church. However, the design predates Christianity by several thousand years (2). The Church of Jesus Christ and Latter-day Saints does not identify with any particular avian symbol, but the Salt Lake City community has erected a monument commemorating the summer of 1848 when seagulls supposedly saved early Mormon settlers’ crops from a massive cricket invasion (3).

Centuries ago, European Christians commonly associated certain birds with figures of the New Testament, but did so in a rather tenuous manner. For example, in medieval bestiaries, the pelican is identified with Jesus Christ and the vulture with the Virgin Mary. As noted in a previous post, these works usually have religious and moral reasons for making such odd connections, even when lacking any overt scriptural basis. Some associations seem a little more sensible, though, such as the identification of St. John with the eagle. Medieval manuscripts often linked the two due to the raptor’s early presence in Revelation (e.g., 4:7, 8:13), a prophetic book commonly attributed to the apostle (4). Another bird is sometimes identified with St. Peter. Though the stormy petrel is not mentioned in the New Testament, it is supposedly named after Peter and an account in Matthew 14:29 (5). How so? Well, when this small bird feeds from atop the ocean’s surface, the creature appears to walk on water, just as Peter is said to have done with Jesus.

A few stories assimilate pagan mythology. Many people centuries ago fancied the European goldfinch in the role of the aforementioned swallow at the Cross (6). As cited in a prior post, this belief, conjoined with Christianized ideas regarding antiquity’s mythical charadrius (also caladrius), is likely responsible for hundreds of Renaissance paintings portraying the Christ child with this bird. Of course even earlier, Church Fathers appropriated another legendary creature with pre-Christian origins as a symbol of the Resurrection—the phoenix, sometimes depicted with the attributes of an eagle and peacock (7). Interestingly, St. Augustine of Hippo reports in his City of God that peacock flesh does not decompose, an idea equated later in some bestiaries with immortality (8). Perhaps he even had the phoenix in mind.

Saints and Their Feathered Friends

Numerous legends tell of Christian hermits and evangelists befriending birds. Some of these remarkable relationships include St. Columba’s heron, St. Malo’s wren, and St. Hugh’s swans, among many others (9). One of the most famous of these legends involves “St. Kevin and The Blackbird,” a tale reiterated in verse by Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney. In his short poem, Kevin has stretched his arm outside a window when a blackbird lands in his open palm and lays its eggs. The saint then, while praying, miraculously steadies his arm and hand in place, “Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks / Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.” (10) An incredible story, but not without precedent! The Hindu Mahabharata offers a similar tale about a hermit named Jajali, except in that ascetic’s case the birds nest on his head (11).

The most celebrated of all Christians in regard to our winged neighbors, of course, is St. Francis of Assisi. His sermons to these creatures are commonly portrayed in Western art, ranging from the Giotto’s late thirteenth-century “St. Francis Preaching to the Birds” to Sir Stanley Spencer’s provocative twentieth-century “St. Francis and the Birds.” The theme occurs, too, in verse, such as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Sermon of St. Francis” (12) as well as another of Heaney’s poems, “Saint Francis and the Birds” (13). But again, St. Francis, is just one of many figures in Christianity associated with birds.

Summary

On the whole, Christianity has exerted an immense bearing on the portrayal of birds in Western art (e.g., Hieronymous Bosch, Raphael, Josefa de Obidos, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Olga Suvorova, etc.) and literature (e.g., John Donne, John Milton, Gerald Manley Hopkins, Denise Levertov, Geoffrey Hill, etc.). A single blog post cannot come remotely close to examining the historical dynamics of this theme, a point that holds true as well for other religions. At the very least, I’m hoping that the information provided offers a decent overview.

For a look at avian creatures in the Old Testament, please see the previous post on Judaism. As always, thanks for reading—especially such a lengthy piece! Next week, I would like to view birds in Islam, the last of the Abrahamic faiths.

Armstrong, E.A. The New Naturalist: A Survey of British Natural History – The Folklore of Birds: An Enquiry into the Origin & Distribution of Some Magico-Religious Traditions. London: Willmer Brothers & Haram Ltd., Birkenhead for Collins Clear-Type Press, 1958. p. xiv.

People have long exploited birds, predominantly for their feathers, meat, and eggs. Among the least likely item on such lists includes something the average person today would consider to have little or no practical purpose—poop.

Yet, for centuries human ingenuity has discovered incredible ways to utilize this waste product, ranging from ingredients for generating munitions to creating skin care products. Here’s the scoop on just a few items, some still in use today.

The Obvious One—Fertilizer, of Course

Anyone who has parked his or her car near some trees only to return hours later and find the vehicle splattered with white, pasty dung has experienced the typical revulsion towards bird poop. The scorn of municipalities that’s frequently directed towards pigeons is due in large part to their unsightly feces on sidewalks and building walls (1). Similarly, the massive amounts of droppings left behind around walkways, parks, and statues by the common starling, a bird that roosts in large numbers, has in turn resulted in animosity toward the migrating creatures (2). In suburbia, larger birds are problematic. To maintain areas clear for human activity, officials now drive flocks of Canada geese away from public lakes, golf courses, and waterways (3). With this almost war-on-birds mentality, you’d think that for many folks, birds are more often than not a nuisance.

But not all poop is reviled (nor the birds that produce it). In some areas of the world, bird feces—known as guano—once fueled a lucrative fertilizer industry. The extensive layers of droppings left by Guanay cormorants, brown pelicans, Peruvian boobies, and other seabirds along Peru’s coast (4) have long been recognized by the native people there as a highly valued farming resource (5, 6). By the mid-nineteenth century, outsiders had discovered that such areas in the Central Pacific and the Caribbean harbored what was colloquially called “white gold,” to be claimed, mined, and exported (7). The fertilizer craze of this period—growing populations require more food—resulted in naval skirmishes, piracy, forced slave labor, and island land-grabs (8). Since that time exploitative processes, from guano extraction to overfishing, have devastated this region’s bird populations (9, 10). The mountains of bird feces once deposited in these spots are no more.

An Explosive Combination

Doves are revered as symbols of peace; so, one may be surprised to learn that their droppings were once used by the British monarchy as a munitions ingredient (11, 12). Long before the marvels of modern chemistry, people relied instead on natural collections of potassium nitrate or saltpeter, a compound necessary for making gunpowder. Although not readily abundant, potassium nitrate turns out to be prevalent in… you guessed it… dried pigeon and dove feces. And since the citizenry’s dovecots were ideal sources for such dung, the British government laid claim to all saltpeter in those structures, making laws permitting agents of the crown to scrape and dig up the material (13). Bird droppings, thus, played an important, if oft forgotten, role in British history.

“No Fun” Beautifying Facials

Truth indeed is stranger than fiction, as yet another case clearly demonstrates. The bush warbler “nightingales” (uguisu) in Japan are known for their song, but the birds have quite a reputation, too, for what’s dispatched from their other end. Due to its moisturizing and restorative effects, their poop (uguisu no fun) has been used for centuries in that country as a skincare product. In particular, the droppings were applied to remove the white make-up worn by courtesans (geishas) and Kabuki actors. Such face paint traditionally contained lead and zinc, which were harsh on the skin, and the uguisu no fun’s urea and guanine helped combat the make-up’s damaging effects (14). Today, some spas in the United States charge more than $150 for a “Geisha facial,” and apparently, many celebrities are smitten with the treatments (15, 16, 17). Who knew that people would actually pay that kind of money to have sanitized bird poop applied to their face? I guess, as Alix Strauss of The New York Times says, “When it comes to fighting aging, many of us will try anything” (18).

A “Crappy”—but Popular—Form of Fundraising

And when it comes to the introduction of any new form of entertainment or fundraising, consider that folks will also line up to try a novel spin-off on an old game, especially if it involves bird feces—hence, the growing popularity of chicken-poop bingo. The rules are similar to the original game but in this version, of course, there are chickens and excrement. As the birds peck for food along a numbered grid, their droppings randomly fall, indicating the next spot to be called on players’ boards. TheWall Street Journal’s Stu Woo notes, “At least a few decades old, the chicken antics have become a popular staple at fairs, festivals and fundraisers in small-town America, and beyond.” (19) To the chagrin of animal rights activists, the game has made its way to New Orleans; Austin, Texas; Columbia, Illinois (20); Louisville, Kentucky (21); Durham, North Carolina (22); and other cities throughout the U.S.

Overall, who knew bird poop could serve so many functions? After researching this topic, I know I’ll never look at the unsightly mess on my car the same way again!

What’s the relationship between the goldfinch and Christian art? What birds are commonly portrayed as pets in paintings by famous artists? And how do artistic renderings of our winged neighbors differ by time period and place? This week’s post will look at these questions and a few other related topics.

There are, of course, many aspects to consider when examining birds in art, most of which will have to be included at a later time. After all, this is a large subject, and birds have fascinated artists for a long time. Depictions of our winged neighbors exist in prehistoric cave paintings, inside burial chambers and ancient temples, within illustrated manuscripts such as bestiaries, and most frequently as awe-inspiring pieces for wealthy patrons and museums. By looking at a small sample of masterpieces from just the past thousand years, we can easily see how birds bless us with their beauty, provide us with a sense of communion with nature, and evoke feelings that extend well beyond their physical form.

When Faith Met the Goldfinch

The old adage goes, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” Obviously, paintings communicate a great deal of information to the viewer. And symbolism is one of the most powerful means at an artist’s disposal, quite evident in the depictions of certain birds. Take for example the popularity of the European goldfinch. Ornithologist Herbert Friedmann, in his book The Symbolic Goldfinch, notes that the bird’s image occurs in more than 480 paintings of the late medieval period and Renaissance (1, 2, 3). As famously rendered in paintings attributed to Raphael (Madonna del cardellino), Leonardo da Vinci (Madonna Litta), and many others, the bird is a frequent fixture in compositions featuring the young Christ child with his mother Mary. But why?

What does a goldfinch, a bird with no direct Biblical references, have to do with Christianity? Could the reason lie with special meaning that particular bird had at that time to those artists, their patrons, and their viewers? In fact, religious belief and social circumstances were quite critical aspects of European life around 1500. And both, as Mark Cocker explains in Birds & People, affected how the goldfinch came to be seen, in essence, as an allegorical representation of Jesus. For starters, folklore already linked the red markings on the bird’s head to the crown of thorns placed upon Christ during the Passion. But, like Jesus, the bird was thought, too, to be a physician of sorts.

Cocker notes that this is because the goldfinch was one of the avian candidates for the mythical charadrius, sometimes referred to as charadrios (4) or caladrius (5, 6). According to ancient sources, such a bird reportedly possessed the ability to heal the sick by staring back into their eyes. Various candidates have been named for these mysterious creatures, including bitterns, curlews, gulls, and plovers. Although the bird is described as having white feathers, in several instances it is said to be yellow or golden (7). The latter, of course, would lead to associations with the goldfinch, as would other forces.

The Black Death was a prevalent and destructive force in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Europe. Since nothing seemed to halt the disease, belief in the charadrius took on a new and desperate role, existing in the form of a religious image. “A dominant feature of the age,” Cocker reminds us, “was the recurrent nightmare of plague, and by incorporating European Goldfinches into paintings the artists were invoking the curative powers of the charadrios on behalf of their contemporary audience.” Thus, the bird, quite popular throughout Europe, became a kind of “visual good-luck charm” (8).

Pet Subjects

Due in part to its popularity as a pet, the goldfinch was also portrayed in several famous paintings without any overt religious connections. Francisco De Goya’s eighteenth-century painting Don Manuel Osorio Manrique de Zuniga (9), for instance, depicts the birds within a cage, while a tethered magpie and several cats are positioned curiously nearby. Approximately a century earlier, Abraham Mignon’s Fruit Still-Life with Squirrel and Goldfinch (10) illustrates the goldfinch pulling a small container of sustenance up towards itself, something these birds can actually be trained to do (11). And then there’s Carel Fabritius’ 1654 painting The Goldfinch, which like Mignon’s piece, portrays the bird chained by one of its legs. The Fabritius work (12), of course, may be the most recognizable artistic rendering of this bird today, thanks in part to how it features prominently in Donna Tartt’s novel The Goldfinch, winner of the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.

Though the goldfinch clearly has a special place in European art, it is but one of many birds to attract considerable attention from painters. Parrots are another favorite, included in Western works ranging from Peter Paul Rubens’ The Holy Family with Parrot to several of Frida Kahlo’s still-life paintings and self-portraits with her pet birds, such as Yo y Mis Pericos (“Me and My Parrots”) (13). These exotic birds are associated with a wide variety of characteristics, but typically represent beauty and sensuality. Of course, members within the parrot or psittacidae family appear as well in art from many parts of the world, such as Chinese emperor Zhao Ji’s twelfth-century handscroll Five-Colored Parakeet (14) and the vibrant sixteenth-century manuscript illustrations accompanying Central Asia’s Tuti-Nama (“Tales of the Parrot”) (15).

Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai, internationally renowned today for his woodblock print series Thirty-Six Views of Mt. Fuji, also included birds in his works, such as Cranes on a Snowy Pine, Willow and Birds, and Hydrangea and Swallow (17). Several of Hokusai’s contemporaries, such as Maruyama Okyo and Shibata Zeshin, produced memorable paintings featuring crows, birds that are also part of Western masterpieces like Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Hunters in the Snow, Pablo Picasso’s Woman and a Crow, and what is likely Vincent van Gogh’s last work, Wheatfield with Crows—though, Cocker offers details that suggest that the latter’s subject matter may instead be rooks (18).

Over the past two hundred years, artistic depictions of birds have become much more varied in style. Some works, such as Salvador Dali’s 1949 painting Leda Atomica, reinterpret a popular, recurring theme in literature and art, in this case the “Leda and the Swan” myth. Dali’s swan is rendered in near-realistic detail, an aspect quite unusual for much of twentieth-century Western fine art.

More, however, can often be stated with less. This, for instance, is the case with Henri Matisse’s 1947 Les Oiseaux (“The Birds”). The painting’s beauty clearly lies in its simplicity, as white, dove-like shapes flutter on a field of blue sky. The same holds true with Paul Klee’s 1922 Twittering Machine (19), but with different results. Whereas Matisse, I think, evokes a warm sense of child-like innocence with his painting, Klee’s simple lines illustrating mechanical birds perched on a crankshaft create a rather unsettling effect, his work a possible symbolic statement on humankind’s naïve subjugation of nature.

A Variety of Tastes for the Palette

A multitude of other styles are available for fans of bird art. The late Charley Harper’s “minimal realism”, for example, renders subjects into colorful, geometric shapes. Some of his most famous pieces feature the northern cardinal, such as the 1969 painting A Good World, and the 1988 work A Day in Eden (20). And then there’s Picasso’s 1911 Cubist masterpiece Le pigeon aux petits pois (“The Pigeon with the Peas”) (21), which employs numerous dynamic sweeps and angles—providing complex but non-naturalistic perspectives of its avian subject. The work is a drastic departure of the more lifelike depictions of birds in the paintings of Picasso’s father and instructor Don José Ruiz y Blasco.

Many artists, especially those who also doubled as naturalists, wanted to portray avian species as realistically as possible in the subjects’ natural habitat. John James Audubon’s nineteenth-century The Birds of America remains the most celebrated of such works. Of course, naturalistic painting is alive and well today. But it’s just one among many styles in which we humans seek to connect with our winged neighbors.

If romantic love has a holiday then it has to be St. Valentine’s Day. But this was not always the case. As strange as it may sound, we likely owe this popular notion in part to an English poem composed more than 600 years ago—a poem about a bunch of birds written for a 14-year-old monarch and his soon-to-be-wife.

Nature Calls

Although Valentine’s Day has ties to the wild, drunken festivities of the ancient Romans’ Lupercalia celebration (1), one of the first documented connections made between Valentine’s Day and romantic coupling actually comes from the late Middle Ages. During this time, around 1381, Geoffrey Chaucer—yes, that same chap responsible for The Canterbury Tales—penned his dedication to a young King Richard II and his fiancée, Anne of Bohemia (2, 3). A rather curious work, Chaucer’s “The Parliament of Fowls”(4) sets out in exploration of love and its mysteries. The poem includes a dream populated with Roman divinities and heroes before eventually moving toward a beautiful pastoral setting where an assembly of talking birds are gathering. In fact, birds of various kinds are arriving there on Valentine’s Day, we are told, for the purpose of selecting a mate.

In Chaucer’s poem, all sorts of fowl—goose, duck, peacock, stork, kite, robin, owl, and more—congregate on this annual occasion. This year the creatures settle near the great goddess Nature for a debate involving several eagles. One after another, the birds are frequently introduced in association with a particular characteristic, not unlike the moralizing bestiaries of this period. As examples, the cormorant is described as gluttonous and the raven is noted for its intelligence and wisdom. Interestingly, Chaucer does not specifically name the vulture, which was believed by some people at the time capable of reproducing without need of a male partner.

Feathers of Lust, Love, and Lechery

Overall, the poet maintains traditional stereotypes when citing particular birds. For instance, he links the dove and the sparrow with the goddess of love. Historically, deities concerned with amorous relations, such as Aphrodite, Venus, and Ishtar, had long been depicted with these birds (5, 6). Chaucer was likely well aware of these non-Christian motifs. Even our language today reflects this age-old connection, as with the rhyming descriptor “lovey-dovey” (7). But both doves and sparrows signified more than just love; they also were metaphors for sexual desire (8, 9, 10).

The same could be said of the “popinjay” or parrot, a bird that may be interpreted in the poem as lecherous (11). Again, like the previously mentioned fowl, parrots have been associated with affectionate and lustful feelings, particularly in the East. In India, they were even popular as pets with courtesans (12). These birds, first domesticated in Asia and Africa, were introduced to Europe in the fourth-century BCE during the time of Alexander the Great (13). And, thanks to traders, parrots later found their way to England before the time of Chaucer, who also writes of a popinjay in “The Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale” of The Canterbury Tales.

The Dead-Beat Cuckoo

Of the many birds throughout “The Parliament of Fowls,” one is cast in particularly bad light: the Old World cuckoo. Chaucer describes her as “unkinde” and murderous. His assertions, though, come with ample reason. The poet is referring to the female cuckoo’s habit of placing her eggs in another unsuspecting bird’s nest, a practice referred to in biology as brood parasitism. This deceit in turn leads to the mother bird of that nest feeding an illegitimate hatchling. Worse yet, though, are the illegitimate offspring’s lethal actions. Eventually the young cuckoo will nudge the other birds out of the nest and to their deaths.

The cuckoo’s brood parasitism has led people to label it as lazy and irresponsible, as well as unfaithful. Interestingly, the bird’s name is linguistically related in several languages—though not in English—to either an adulteress (14) or to the word “cuckold,” a term for an obtuse man, particularly an older one, who’s oblivious to the affairs of his adulterous wife (15, 16). The word appears in The Canterbury Tales several times, rendered as “cokewold.” Furthermore, the cuckoo’s reputation as one who mocks love, resurfaces in English literature, such as in “The Cuckoo and the Nightingale” by Chaucer’s contemporary John Clanvowe and later in “O Nightingale” by John Milton.

The Affairs of Birds

Despite a few questionable aspects, Chaucer’s birds in general seem fitting enough for a love-themed poem. Like the poet, many of us still find avian metaphors appropriate today for romantic associations. In the United Kingdom, a significant other is referred to as my “duck,” while “dolly bird” is slang for a young, attractive woman (17, 18). There’s even the popular “birds and the bees” euphemism for sexual relations.

Clearly, though, there are several key ornithological inaccuracies within the central theme of “The Parliament of Fowls.” For starters, birds do not collectively select mates on one given day throughout the year, no matter whether it be February 14th or May 3rd, the day the young king’s engagement was announced (19). Also, our avian neighbors, especially songbirds, usually do not mate for life and are often unfaithful (20, 21, 22). Chaucer probably didn’t realize this; otherwise, he likely would have reconsidered using them in a matter related to royal matrimony!

On one important positive note, research has discovered a few stellar examples of avian faithfulness, as Australian ravens, mute swans, and several species of geese—and especially albatrosses—were found to rank among those birds with the lowest “divorce rates” (23, 24). They even appear to enjoy better conjugal success than human couples in the U.S.! So perhaps albatrosses are the birds most worthy of our adulation on Valentine’s Day, even if they fail to receive proper due in Chaucer’s poem.

Armstrong, E.A. The New Naturalist: A Survey of British Natural History – The Folklore of Birds: An Enquiry into the Origin & Distribution of Some Magico-Religious Traditions. London: Willmer Brothers & Haram Ltd., Birkenhead for Collins Clear-Type Press, 1958. p. 47.

Birds have dominated Earth’s airy domain for eons. We are the newcomers, having relied on them for inspiration and insights into our own species’ dreams of flight. Without birds, there would have been no ancient myth of Daedalus and Icarus, no model for Leonardo da Vinci’s flying machine (1), and no example for Orville and Wilbur Wright to study when developing their airplanes (2).

Unfortunately, as human reach has expanded towards the sky, so have the number of collisions with our feathered neighbors. According to the U.S. Federal Aviation Administration (FAA), more than 140,000 bird strikes with civil aircraft have occurred since 1990, and the number of hits are increasing annually (3). Several factors may be resulting in the upward trend of incidents. For starters, wildlife protection measures are working to safeguard more birds, which in turn accounts for more birds in the air (4, 5). The number of aircraft also continues to increase, while advances in quieter aircraft technology may be making the birds more susceptible targets (6). One, too, must consider the improvements in reporting such strikes over the past few decades (7, 8).

Greater Awareness of the Damaging Potential

Bird strikes pose serious problems for all parties concerned. They result in almost certain death to the feathered animal thrust against the plane’s hull or pulled into its engine. For human passengers, the results can range from minor or no aircraft damage to a downed flight and fatalities, though the latter is rare. The FAA-co-sponsored Bird Strike Committee USA indicates that since 1960, such impact events have been responsible for more than 60 “major accidents” in the United States and over 260 fatalities (9). Also, commercial aircraft damage (from minor to catastrophic) now exceeds globally $1.2 billion per year for the airline industry (10).

Of course, the anniversary of the most famous incident involving a bird strike is quickly approaching, the so-called “Miracle on the Hudson.” On the afternoon of January 15, 2009, U.S. Airways Flight 1549 struck a flock of Canada geese shortly after departing from New York City’s La Guardia Airport. Damage to the Airbus A320’s twin engines, both located under the aircraft’s wings, forced the plane to make an emergency landing in the Hudson River. Remarkably, thanks to the heroics of pilot Chesley Sullenberger and his crew, no one died (11). The geese, of course, were not so lucky.

Identifying Problems and Providing Solutions

Although bird strikes are not new—the Wright Brothers reportedly had their own incident (12)—the “Miracle on the Hudson” has put a spotlight on the issue, particularly on the role large birds such as Canada geese play. The concern is understandable, though smaller avian species can be problematic. For instance, of all bird species in the United States, the mourning dove resulted in the highest reports of aircraft bird strikes throughout the 1990 – 2013 period. But of those occurrences, just 3% involved any damage (13). Fortunately, impact events with Canada geese and turkey vultures occurred less often than those related to smaller species such as the mourning dove, American kestrel, European starling, and barn swallow, for both of the larger species involved significantly higher incidences of damage (50% and 52% respectively) (14). Nonetheless, a large flock of small birds can still cause serious issues.

Government agencies, aircraft manufacturers, airline industry officials, wildlife organizations, and scientists are continuing their work to prevent bird strike incidents. For instance, airports and the areas surrounding them are monitored so that landscapes and structures do not become breeding grounds or gathering spots for migrating birds. In some cases the birds have to be driven out, using specially trained dogs or falcons. Occasionally, fowl need to be forcefully removed from the premises and exterminated. Less intrusive means are fortunately at our disposal, too. Radar designed to detect birds is becoming increasingly available, and is being used for improved navigation (15, 16, 17, 18). The ideal approach is one that ensures the safe coexistence of both birds and humans in the skies with minimal inconvenience to either.

Three to four hundred years ago many people actually thought birds were capable of flying to the moon or hibernating on the seafloor. Of course, some folks at that time also believed barnacles could grow into a particular species of goose. Yes, a lot of strange ideas existed before the advances of modern science. Popular but erroneous beliefs included notions that smaller birds caught rides on the bigger birds, and that cranes, in their annual travels, preyed on Pygmies.

Under the Sea or Beyond the Sky?

Obviously, the understanding of birds’ migratory habits was rudimentary at best. Certain birds, such as the cuckoo and swallow, would appear around spring and disappear during the winter. People noticed this cycle, but as to how and why the birds vanished and came back was not so clear. One idea was that some birds, like several mammals, simply slept away the winter. Olaus Magnus, Swedish historian and archbishop, in his 1555 work Historia de Gentibus Septentrionalibus, appeared to think this about swallows, for he writes that fishermen had been known to pull these hibernating birds up from the sea with nets (1, 2, 3).

Magnus’s report on swallows, of course, seems today nearly as incredulous as the 1703 pamphlet “An Essay toward the Probable Solution of this Question: Whence come the Stork and the Turtledove, the Crane, and the Swallow, when they Know and Observe the Appointed Time of their Coming.” This document actually claimed that birds migrate to the moon (4, 5). And, no, this is not a joke!

Imagining our winged friends on a lunar flight or residing under the sea is quite far fetched today. The strained logic behind such mistaken notions, however, is still understandable. After all, the last time some people may have seen certain birds was probably as they were flying over a large expanse of water or beyond the horizon at evening time. Folklore, with its strong associative leanings, could have simply connected the birds’ destination with the last place they were observed.

What was Aristotle Thinking?

Even the ancient Greeks, despite their many contributions to science and philosophy, were susceptible to incredible stories. One of the most fascinating accounts of bird migration comes from Homer’s Iliad (Book 3: 1–6), which describes cranes attacking Pygmies (6). Moreover, Aristotle—yes, the great classical philosopher—notes the Pygmies’ African location in his History of Animals (Book 8: Chapter 14). Actually, in his landmark work, the first extensive biology book of antiquity, Aristotle provides the most original detail of any classical writer on birds. Unfortunately, he promotes quite his share of misconceptions, too.

To account for the annual appearance and vanishing of different birds, Aristotle cites migration, but he does so along with a couple other alternate means. For instance, some feathered creatures, he claims, can morph from one species into another, such as redstarts transmuting into European robins and back again (Book 9: Chapter 26). Also, according to Aristotle, several birds, including turtledoves, thrushes, starlings, and some swallows, hide away slumbering for months in seclusion, basically hibernating until warmer weather arrives (Book 8: Chapter 18). Interestingly enough, notwithstanding such off-the-wall notions, Aristotle wasn’t completely wrong about hibernation. Scientists have recently learned that a few birds, such as the common poorwill and swallow, can rest in torpor during brief cool periods (7). Of course, though, they don’t sleep under water, as Magnus asserted.

Despite numerous missteps, our ancestors were clearly not clueless. Thousands of years ago, many people realized that at certain times bird populations traveled from one region to another. References to such cycles can be found in other ancient texts, such as the Bible (e.g., Job 39:26–30, Jeremiah 8:7), Herodotus’s The Histories (e.g., Book 2: Chapter 22), and Aristophanes’s plays The Birds and The Knights. So, at the very least, ancient people seemed aware when seasonally certain birds arrived and departed.

Of course, by today’s standards our knowledge of bird migration has matured considerably. For more on the intriguing history of how this understanding has developed, including a particular whitestork’s important role in the process, please check out this blog post from a scientist at the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB).